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He grinned at my pout, which probably made me look like a sulking child, “he just wants your weal—” Roman began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

“I’m not a child. And especially not Nikolai Ivanov’s child,” I said firmly.

He raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing.

Just as he was about to reply, his phone chimed. He shoved his spoon into the pudding and checked the message. His expression shifted.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

“What ? What’s going on ?” I asked, my voice tight with worry. He shook his head, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

“Nothing important. I’ve got a car race tonight, but we’re short a partner. My date just canceled, so I’ll have to ask one of the girls at the track… though that’s not ideal.”

He sighed, scooping another spoonful of pudding as I watched him, smiling softly. If only I could be that carefree. Just for once.

And then it hit me.

What if I could ?

Just for one night ?

“I’ll go with you,” I said, my smile widening.

“Uh… I don’t think that’s a good idea. Nikolai—”

“What did I just say ? I want to live too, dammit ! To do things I’ve never done before !” I insisted, letting my voice tremble.

His face softened immediately and he looked at me for a long second, then sighed and shoveled the last bite of pudding into his mouth.

I smiled again, victorious.

I was going to a car race !

Chapter thirty-seven

Nikolai

The last cargo truck disappeared into the distance as I crushed my cigarette beneath my boot.

“Looks like the Chinese didn’t dare after all,” Sasha said, joining me at the warehouse exit.

Earlier that day, while we were trying to track Antonio, one of our informants within the Chinese triads had tipped us off about a planned attack on the night’s shipment.

Many believed the Italians and Russians ran the underground in America, but the Chinese had their share of the market too—a significant share. A share they were eager to expand, just like everyone else.

“Call Yuan. Make sure he hasn’t been compromised,” I told Sasha, referring to our mole who had warned us. Maybe the Chinese had caught on when we changed the delivery location.

The first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon when my phone vibrated in the inner pocket of my jacket. The name on the screen read : Chief Jeff.

“Nikolai Ivanov,” I answered, already suspecting what this was about.

“Mr. Ivanov, your brother was arrested last night during a street race. Again,” Jeff growled, his voice rough and annoyed.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. Roman was supposed to manage the bets and logistics at those races. But the idiot couldn’t help himself—he had to participate. And subtlety had never been his strong suit.

The cops loved these little chances to make us miserable. They knew they couldn’t actually touch us—not if they wanted to keep breathing—but they enjoyed reminding us that they were watching.

“Handle it the usual way,” I said, about to hang up.